Inherit his pain
by wolfypuppypiles
Summary: Phillip was dying. Or at least it felt as if he were. His stomach churned and clenched, and his head spun. Everything hurt, and ached, and begged for relief but there was none. He'd run out of heroin. (Phillip goes through withdrawal and Marcy takes care of him)


(AN: No one will read this because no one watches the show BUT YOU SHOULD especially if you like whump cause whoooo boy its wonderful. Just watch the first five episodes and if you don't love it that's fine but the first five are the bessssttt for whump

Anyway I hope you like this and I hope that if you dont watch the show already you consider it. Its on netflix btw with two season and a third coming this december so...check it out and come talk to me about it cause I love it OH also a little context for anyone that hasn't watched the show, the characters are from the future and their minds were put in bodies of people from the twenty first century so Phillip got a body that was addicted to heroin and thats why its so hard for him, anyway.)

Phillip was dying. Or at least it felt as if he were. His stomach churned and clenched, and his head spun. Everything hurt, and ached, and begged for relief but there was none.

He'd run out of heroin.

There had been a few doses left, enough to get him through till he went and got more but then they'd been given a mission. It had taken a few days and by the time they got back, he was too tired to do anything but sleep.

And now he was awake and in agony. All his body wanted was more, but all he could do was shake and grip the sweat-dampened sheets as his skin burned from the cold air.

He groaned, moaning in agony as his stomach heaved, rolling onto his side just in time to vomit over the side of the bed.

He panted, moaning, his mouth open and spit dripping from his lips to the puddle on the floor as his stomach squeezed, threatening another performance.

A shiver shook through him and he trembled, hanging over the side of the bed as his body decided it was too cold.

"Hey, Phillip I need a-" His coms came to life, Marcy's pleasant voice like a dream in Phillips hellish present. His own cough and splutter interrupted her, as he rolled back in his bed, teeth chattering before he broke out into a sweat once more. Now he was too hot.

He wanted to apologize for interrupting, for not helping with whatever she needed, but she spoke before he'd regained his composure.

"Phillip? Are you okay?"

She sounded so concerned, and he was so alone all he wanted was someone there to help ease the pain.

He found his words, but they came as a whimper. "Marcy. I ran out."

She paused, but she knew what he meant. "Can you go and get more?"

Phillip barely had enough energy to move his head across the pillow. His voice was small, ashamed. "I can't move."

He heard shuffling on her end of the coms, before her voice came back, more determined than before. Phillip called it her doctor voice. "Okay, I'll be there soon."

The coms beeped before she spoke but not to him. "Trevor are you busy?"

Philip closed his eyes, shoving the blankets away from him and tugging his shirt up to try and cool the burning inside him. Trevor's voice was calm as always.

"I have class in five minutes but I can skip it. What do you need?"

Marcy's words were quick and efficient, and too loud in Phillips' head. "Phillips sick from withdrawal, I need you to get him more drugs and bring them to the base."

"Okay. Phillip, man, I'll be as fast as I can all right? Hang in there."

His skin was crawling and his teeth chattered, his eyes remaining closed as he answered. "Please hurry. It hurts."

Trevor spoke once more before shutting off his coms, tone soft. "You got it."

Time slipped and shifted around him as he tried to focus through the pain and fever chills running through him, and he wasn't sure how much time passed before Marcy arrived.

His eyes were still closed against the too bright lights, but he heard her come in and rolled his head towards the door. Her footsteps came closer and he heard her sigh before her cool hand met his damp forehead, carefully brushing his hair back from his face.

"Oh, Phillip."

He peeled his eyes open, seeing her there as she looked him over. His voice was weak. "I'm sorry."

She watched him with sad, pitying eyes, unsure of what exactly he was apologising for. Was it for not helping her with the research she was going to ask him to do, or for having to be rescued? Or was it for the puddle of his stomach acid she'd almost stepped in?

She shook her head, carefully sitting on the edge of his bed and picking up his wrist, pressing her fingers to the clammy skin there.

"It's not your fault."

He blinked at her as she concentrated, counting out his heartbeats and noting symptoms. After a moment she shifted her grip and instead gently pinched the back of his hand watching how the skin reacted.

"You're dehydrated and your heart rate is up." Her tone wasn't accusing but Phillip felt the need to defend himself anyway.

"I couldn't keep anything down."

Marcy nodded and stood, reaching down for Phillip. "Trevor will be back with what you need soon so, let's get you cleaned up for now."

She was stronger than she looked, carefully slipping a hand behind Phillips' neck and easing him up to sitting before draping one of his arms across her shoulders.

Phillip was well aware that he must have smelt pretty bad, and judging by how he felt, he'd guess he looked half dead. He wasn't sure how she could stand to touch him let alone be near him but he didn't complain as she led him to the bathroom, keeping him upright as his feet stumbled under him and his knees threatened to give out.

He felt so weak he could barely manage a step without leaning most of his weight against her, and even with the help, he was exhausted by the time she sat him down next to the shower.

She moved with deft purpose, always so sure of herself and her purpose. Phillip had memorized everything that was going to happen in the twenty-first and still felt as if he never knew what he was doing.

He had trained for so long and yet was so unprepared for life in his new time and body.

He sat, slumped against the wall where he'd been placed, and watched as Marcy turned the shower on and gathered supplies before coming back to him.

She was so gentle, voice kind as she took the bottom of his shirt with careful fingers. "Let's get you out of these."

He couldn't help her much, too tired to lift his arms for long, as she peeled his clothes from him. He felt so pathetic and yet he was so glad she was there. He couldn't remember the last time someone took care of him.

His shirt came over his head, Marcy silently guiding his arms from the sleeves and throwing the dirty shirt to the side to be washed later.

Then came his pants, before Marcy helped him to his feet once again, leading him into the warm spray of water in the shower.

He curled in on himself, head down as his body rapidly fluctuated between temperatures, his insides burning while his skin grew goosebumps from the cold.

Marcy was still her professional, doctor self. Her face passive and kind as she tilted his face upwards with a finger under his chin, before grabbing shampoo and scrubbing it over his head.

It felt nice, her hands in his hair, and it helped him concentrate and block out the rest of the pain. Hot water and bubbles ran down his skin and he shuddered, Marcy's hands scrubbing behind his ears and massaging at his neck.

He closed his eyes, losing himself to the gentle fingers kneading into his skin, and he stumbled, dizzy, hand slamming onto the wall beside him to keep him standing. Marcy's hands pressed against his back and chest, waiting until he found his feet again before going back to his hair.

The smell of stomach acid and sweat was replaced with vanilla and whatever perfume was on Marcy's wrist, and Philip began to feel a little more human.

His hair was washed and conditioned, the bubbles floating over his toes and down the drain.

His stomach clenched angrily, as he rocked on his feet, Marcy's hands scrubbing a washcloth over his back and chest.

His hands shook on the wall where he held himself up, and he clenched his teeth against the nausea until Marcy handed him the cloth, arms dripping with water that rolled down to her elbows.

"Here. Scrub. I'm going to make your bed, but I'll be back."

Phillips clumsy fingers found the cloth, barely managing to wrap around it before Marcy let go and was gone.

He'd heard her speak but her words meant nothing to his sludgy mind and he closed his eyes as the room spun around him.

His stomach rolled again, and the cloth fell from his hand, slapping against the floor as he gagged.

His knees buckled, water hissing over his ears and drowning out all other noise as his knees slammed onto the floor, sure to bruise. His hands slipped from the wall to slap against the water at the bottom of the shower, fingers curling in desperation as grunts left his mouth, water pouring over him.

He gagged and rode through the vertigo as his stomach forced out everything it had left and then some.

The mess was gone in an instant, washed away but not forgotten as Phillip slumped, sitting at the bottom of the shower and curling there until Marcy came back and found him.

The water was turned off and her hand cupped his cheek, lifting his face for her to see the tears running down his dripping face.

His voice was warped and cracked. "I threw up again."

She nodded, kind. "It's okay."

Wiping a hand over his face she pushed his hair away from his eyes, before turning around to grab a towel. He sat forward as she wrapped it around him, hands rubbing over his back and arms to dry him off.

His bottom lip wobbled as he tried and failed to stop crying. He felt so pathetic, sitting there dripping at the bottom of the shower, sick from withdrawal.

He was supposed to be helping to save the world, and here he was being taken care of by a member of his team that had her own problems to deal with.

Phillips breath came as a hiccupped gasp as Marcy wrapped her arm around him and hauled him up to his feet. She led him to his newly made bed and sat him down, rubbing the towel over his skin.

He kept his head down as she helped pull on new clothes, Trevor arriving just as she was scrubbing the towel over his hair.

"Hey, Phillip, buddy I got your stuff right here. Are you okay?"

His face was creased in concern as he went to the bathroom and started preparing the syringe, but Phillip didn't answer his question.

Marcy gave Phillip a small smile as she called out to Trevor. "He'll be okay."

Phillip wasn't so sure. He pressed his lips together but it did nothing to stop the tremor in them or the tears that spilt forward.

He wanted them to understand, his voice small and cracked. "I don't want to be like this. It's not...it's not me. It's the body."

Marcy cupped his cheek and wiped his tears away with her thumb. "We know. It's not your fault."

Phillips' shoulders jumped with each breath, and he sagged forward into Marcy's arms as they wrapped around him. His voice was muffled against her neck as his hands came up to weakly curl into the fabric of her shirt over her back.

"I'm so tired."

Trevor came back in, as Marcy hugged Phillip tight. His eyes were sad, hating to see his teammate hurting.

Marcy hugged Phillip for a moment longer before laying him down on the bed. "I'll give you what you need and then you can sleep."

Trevor handed the syringe and elastic over, stepping back as Marcy took it and wrapped the elastic around her teammates arm.

Phillip welcomed the sting of the needle, his body craving the poison being injected into his veins, and he sighed as he felt the drugs enter his system.

His muscles relaxed, eyes rolling back into his head at the relief he'd been so desperate for. He both hated and loved the feeling of the heroin flooding through him, but he couldn't deny how grateful he was for it.

Marcy stood, throwing out the used syringe, and began pulling up Phillips blankets, tucking him in.

"Sleep. I'll be back in to check on you later."

He opened his eyes, seeing them both standing there taking care of him and offered a smile.

"Thank you."

Marcy nodded, and Trevor leant down to pat Phillips ankle before they both went back to their day and left Phillip to his thoughts.

He hated the body he was in, he hated what it made him and he hated that he was a slave to a drug that didn't even exist in his time.

But he wasn't as alone as he'd thought. He had a team to care about him, to make it easier, and he couldn't do it without them.

Phillip's body relaxed and his mind slipped and he was finally able to sleep. 


End file.
